Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection
A flurry? The world outside was howling white horror. But he put aside further arguments for now. As she said, there was no point borrowing trouble. They were stuck here until the storm worked itself out.
He’d marry her tomorrow, scandal or no scandal, but she clearly didn’t share his enthusiasm for the idea, damn it. “Can I help?”
She looked up with a quick smile. And visible relief that he changed the subject. “I doubt I’ve got the strength to dice that bacon. Can I give it to you? You might need an ax.”
***
“What time is it?” Bess asked from the table where she lingered over her empty bowl. Rory sat on the bed across the room, legs stretched over the rough mattress.
The improvised soup had been surprisingly palatable, and now they drank herbal tea from tin mugs. The hut was cozy, and they’d both removed their heavy outer coats which lay steaming in front of the fire.
He set down his tea and retrieved his pocket watch. “Nearly eight.”
When he’d ventured outside for more snow, he’d fumbled around in pitch darkness. The blizzard still raged, but he’d become so used to the wind, he hardly noticed it anymore.
“It’s getting colder again.”
“Yes.” He extended a hand toward her and hoped he wasn’t making a mistake trusting to his willpower. But he couldn’t bear to have her to himself, yet so far away. “Body heat is the best way to keep warm.”
Pleasure filled him when she crossed to take his hand, kneeling on the low bed. He slid his arm around her and tucked her close into his side, pulling up the blankets until they were cocooned against the wall.
“You’re shivering,” he said in dismay. He reached for the flask of homemade liquor he’d put on the floor beside the bed. “Have some of this. It might help.”
She sneaked a hand out from under the blanket and took the flask. She brought it to her lips and took a sip, then choked. “That’s vile.”
He laughed as he took back the flask and tested its contents. Aye, she was right. It was bloody dreadful, but once the fumes had cleared, he appreciated the spreading warmth. “Well, we’re stuck here. Any idea how to pass the time? If I had a pack of cards, I could teach you piquet.”
“I can play piquet.”
He snuggled her closer. He reminded his animal self that he’d offered her body heat, not the heat of passion. Difficult to remember when he touched her. “Miss Farrar, you clearly have a wicked past.”
“Not very,” she mumbled into his chest. “Your brother taught me.”
“Aye?” Ridiculous to be jealous of a dead man.
“When you’re ill, you have a lot of time to fill. I used to visit the Abbey to read to him. One day he was bored with the story and suggested cards instead.”
Rory struggled not to picture an intimate scene in the same state bedroom where he’d slept alone and longing since meeting Bess. It was much more likely she and his brother had been in one of the public rooms downstairs.
He was a fool to torment himself. If Bess had wanted the late Earl of Channing, she’d have married him.
“I’ll have to make sure all the huts on my estate are stocked with playing cards.” He offered the rough spirit, but she shook her head. He braved another taste, then sealed the flask and put it beside the bed.
Despite their dire situation, he felt ridiculously content. Bess was soft and warm in his embrace, and her rich scent, tinged with wood smoke, filled his senses.
He rested his cheek on her shining hair. A hint of wet wool also teased his nostrils, despite the fire drying them out over the last few hours. But beneath that, she was all delicious woman.
With all his might, he strived to behave like a solicitous gentleman, and not a rapacious seducer. After all, her presence in his arms was a mark of hard-won trust. She clearly had no idea how his blood surged at her nearness, nor how he fought the need to drag her beneath him and warm her up the best way he knew.
Since he’d gone to sea, he’d had few dealings with virtuous ladies. The sort of lassie who succumbed to a sailor knew he’d be away on the next tide. Bess, for all her strength and vigor and courage, struck him as so heartbreakingly fragile right now. He loathed the thought of frightening her with his mighty desire.
If she’d been one of his lusty mistresses, he’d tumble her in a blink. But she wasn’t. She was a chaste vicar’s daughter, and he had no idea how to shift her feelings from cordiality to passion. She was pure and perfect, and he wanted her so fiercely, he felt ready to burst into flame.
“I’m sorry I got you into this.”
He emerged from his brooding to meet her solemn blue gaze. “How is this your fault? Unless you’ve got some influence with the snow gods that I don’t know about. If you have, for pity’s sake, ask them to lay off.”
She smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I made you come out cutting Christmas greenery. In fact, I got you involved in having Christmas at the Abbey in the first place.”